


paints the sky with pinks

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s04e12 Lazarus, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey stood in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the cold metal of the door hinge, and tried not to cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paints the sky with pinks

Mickey stood in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the cold metal of the door hinge, and tried not to cry.

(Mickey wasn't supposed to cry. He wasn't supposed to do a lot of things, but then Ian crashed his way into Mickey's life, and Mickey broke all his rules.)

He still wasn't quite processing it, Fiona's words rattling around in his skull, a wrecking ball of confusion and fear, destroying everything in its path. He didn't understand, but at least the Gallaghers did (thank God), so that was something. 

Debbie emerged from the bedroom, her face gloomy, and Mickey ran a hand over his hair, nervously. She had been trying to get Ian to eat some pancakes, to eat something, anything, but he wasn't having any of it. 

She took one look at Mickey and her face softened, compassion and kindness rolling over her features like waves on a beach, erasing any hints of her own sadness. Mickey  _hated_ being looked at like that, Ian looked at him like that, sometimes, and it made his heart beat faster in his chest and made him hope for things he could never have. 

Debbie hugged him. She wrapped her small arms around his waist, and Mickey had the immediate urge to shove her off, because no one hugged Mickey Milkovich. He was made of sharp edges and knives. Hugs didn't get him anywhere in life. For some reason, Ian and Debbie didn't understand this. She just held on tight, and Mickey wasn't sure if the hug was supposed to be for his benefit or for hers, but he softened a little under her touch. It was really fucking weird, but Mickey went with it, because the last few days had been long and hard, and he didn't have the strength to pretend anymore. 

"He'll be okay," she murmured against his chest, and Mickey looked down at the top of her head, incredulous, because she wasn't tired and discouraged and cynical, like the rest of them. Despite this fucking neighborhood, she was still an optimist. 

(Mickey's heart broke a little for her, because she didn't belong here, she didn't belong in Mickey's hell of a house, full of so much terrible shit, but here she was, whispering gently to Ian and holding Mickey so he didn't cry. There was so much good in her, and Mickey didn't want to see that disappear.)

She let him go, and Mickey didn't have the guts to hug her back, but he patted her shoulder, because she didn't deserve to spread warmth to everybody and not get anything back. Ian's little sister was one of the good ones. 

\---

The Gallaghers brought some pills, and after some coaxing, got Ian to take them. It wasn't some goddamn miracle cure, or anything, but Mickey could feel Ian slowly getting better, becoming himself again, and Mickey didn't think he'd ever really felt true relief in his life until Ian wrapped an arm around his shoulders in the middle of the night, pulling Mickey close against his chest. 

Mickey was careful when he touched him, he didn't want to push too hard and ruin everything, and Mickey's heart damn nearly broke when he realized that Ian probably felt like this, wary and unsure with his touches, when this whole fucking thing started, when Mickey was still just a scared little boy who threatened Ian when he so much as looked at Mickey with any sort of softness in his eyes. 

It was like there was a glass wall between them, separating them, but Mickey could feel it slowly cracking, little spidery fissures curling across the surface. It was inevitable, probably, the way they found their way back to each other, even if it was through lava and up over mountains and past a tangled swamp of issues, and heartbreak, and darkness. 

One day, Ian got out of bed and opened the ratty curtain that covered Mickey's window. Light streamed into the room, and Mickey made an annoyed noise, because he was still deluding himself with the possibility of getting more sleep, but then Ian smiled down at him and gently kissed the top of his head, and Mickey couldn't bring himself to do anything but sit up and watch Ian look out the window. Ian watched the sunrise, because apparently that was something he actually liked to do, like a fucking nerd. 

"You're like a sunrise," Ian said, out of the blue, and of course, that would be the first fucking thing out of Ian's mouth. 

"Excuse me?" Mickey asked, because it was way too early for this shit. "Are you high?"

Ian turned and rolled his eyes at Mickey, the light from the window dancing over his features in a way that made Mickey want to run his hands over Ian's stupid fucking face. 

"No, it's like the way you smile. Your face is all dark and hard and  _I'm a badass thug, don't mess with me_  (Ian's imitation of him was shit), and then you start to smile and everything changes, slowly, and before you know it, the sun's up and your smile's huge and I can't look away."

"Holy fuck," Mickey said. "You're the sappiest motherfucker I've ever met. I can't believe you just compared me to a goddamn sunrise."

(What he didn't say was  _whatever, I don't care, say the mushiest things possible, as long as you're laughing and smiling and looking at me like that again, I'll take it all_ , because Mickey wasn't wired the way Ian was, and that was okay, because Ian could read the words he couldn't say in the lines of Mickey's face.)

The doorbell rang, and Mickey got up to put some clothes and told Ian to do the same, because that was probably Debbie and he didn't want to scar her. 

"You wanna see your sister?" Mickey asked, and Ian nodded, thoughtfully, still watching the last red-purple strains of the sunrise wash across the morning sky. 

Mickey answered the door, and he was right, Debbie was outside, all wrapped up in her winter scarves and coat and hat, and she too could apparently read whatever Mickey's face said, because she clapped an excited hand over her mouth and rushed inside. 

She slowed down when she got to their bedroom, but Mickey watched as she strode over to Ian, tentatively.

"Hey Debs," he beamed, pulling a dark shirt over his head, and the dam fucking broke, because she ran over to him and hugged him, hard, like she had done with Mickey, plastering herself against his chest in the way only clingy little sisters could master. 

Mickey smiled in the doorway. 


End file.
